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Suzanne Somers Drops a 'Bombshell' on Aging

In an excerpt from her new book, "Bombshell: Explosive Medical Secrets That Will Redefine Aging," actress and author Suzanne Somers dishes on getting older, facing her fears, and the secret to a long and happy life.

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I’m excited about it. Never thought I’d feel this upbeat about an age that many keep secret.

Like so many people, a couple of decades ago, before I “saw the light,” I dreaded aging. And why not? I never saw an aging person who was happy about it. My late then-90-year-old auntie Helen said it so well: “It sucks to get old, Sue!”

And who could blame her. Once “full of bullets” as they say — energetic, mischievous, outspoken, confident, and funny — my aunt spent her last years in a nursing home, unable to perform the simple tasks of life. “The food sucks in here,” she would say. “I miss being able to cook for myself.” Forgetful, with unsteady feet that couldn’t feel the ground from neuropathy and bones so brittle that the wrong moves could snap them in two, she was right. It sucked.

Back when I was a kid, 65 was ancient. Now I see it as young. But I can remember being at family weddings looking at my old aunts (in their sixties), all of whom had their legs wrapped in support hose to hide their varicose veins and swollen ankles, their feet propped high on chairs to take some of the pressure off them. They had swollen bodies and pendulous breasts, and there was a seeming sexlessness to them. Youth was gone, bones were brittle, memories were foggy; they appeared to be living back in the “I remember whens.”

Next, I noticed that the pills started, tackle boxes full — for memory, for blood pressure, for cholesterol, for bones. Soon my aunts became the ones in the wheelchairs, stooped over, shaking, confused, not quite remembering who they were and, worse, not remembering who they used to be. We patted their heads, kissed them, and told them we loved them. They responded to the affection, but it could have been from anyone, because now in a haze of drugs and loss of self, just being touched and acknowledged, by anyone, felt nice.

When I was a kid and my parents and relatives were still young and full of fun, I remember them partying till all hours of the morning. I was supposed to be in bed, but I would sit with the door cracked open, watching, listening. They had such a good time, laughing nonstop, drinking, and playing cards all night long, then stumbling out of the house hugging and kissing one another good-bye. They were in their forties then; their sixties, seventies, and eighties were coming, but none of them gave it a thought. No one back then thought about making a plan for aging well.

We plan for nearly everything else in our lives. Think about all the energy you put into planning a vacation, or any major event. But aging is put out of our minds; we don’t want to acknowledge it; we choose not to “see” the end point. Aging is just something that “happens” and is something we want to avoid. And rarely do people think the fate they see all around in others is going to happen to them.

No one sees the nursing home, hospital, or hospice center as his or her end point. Though we know aging is inevitable, we ignore it. Even the healthiest among us choose instead to think of it as something so far off in the distance that today’s choices are not directly relevant.

But we know deep within, that “time” will come and how terrible it will be if we find ourselves trapped and lost in our particular confinements: wheelchairs, oxygen tanks, knees that won’t hold us up, loss of eyesight and hearing, debilitating diseases. Not us! we say. That’s what happened to our parents, but not to us! But, I ask you, what have you done differently?

Have you taken diet, lifestyle, exercise, supplementation, hormone replacement, or sleep seriously? Have you managed your stress? Answer yourself honestly.

You don’t have to go the way of all those people like my auntie Helen. You can choose a different course. I have. I’m having such a different experience. If this quality of life and health continues, then bring on 90, or 100, or more. I believe it’s all possible. Long life with quality — and I mean long life. At 65, I feel great. I’m happy, healthy. I have energy, and my bones are so strong I can do a handstand in yoga. I have perfect memory, and best of all, I have a sex drive!

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